


I Don't Believe In Fairy Tales

by Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot, Silver_Eternity



Series: Tales From New Chicago [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, City life at its finest, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Forced Bonding, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Late Teen Pregnancy, Major Illness, Mind the Tags, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Consensual Violence, Oviparous Trolls, Prejudice, Prostitution, Rape, Sadstuck, Technically?, Trolls as parents, reversed hemospectrum, seriously dudes, this stuff is REALLY dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot/pseuds/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Eternity/pseuds/Silver_Eternity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have been in school. He should have been running around with other trolls his age. He should have had a warm bed, plenty of food, parents that cared for every trouble even when he didn’t want them to, and freedom. He shouldn’t have had to fend for himself, alone, in the wilds, all because of a stupid checkmark on an even more stupid form signed by a prejudiced asshole that deserved the things he’d said. He shouldn’t even have been held accountable for those things really. Eggs did that sort of thing to the carrying parent. Especially when the sire wanted nothing to do with him. She was an even bigger stupid bitch than the human social worker who’d come to his school to make sure it hadn’t been incest, not that having a wriggler sired by his own sire or dam would have affected the grub but humans got squicky about that sort of thing. The very accusation had driven him from his home. He couldn’t return with that sort of shame, especially when the sire was so high on the modern hemocaste. Really, none of this should have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Their spades had been beautiful, and he thought, eternal. A dance of hate so pure it left him singing from every cut, scrape, and bruise. And she'd always been careful. Never left marks on his face, where they could be seen and misinterpreted by the human administrators. It was technically illegal for an underage troll to have a kismesissitude that violent, but hate was hate. What could he do? From the first moment he'd laid eyes on Damara she'd been the one he loved to pitch. And the best part about it was the feeling was mutual.

Until he'd wriggled up.

It wasn't obvious at first, though he knew the evening he woke with chills and nausea that they'd made a mistake in his birth control. It took him two weeks to get up the nerve to actually talk to her about it. His gastric sac roiled as he knocked on her door.

"Yes?" She glared up at him, her eyes squinting against the light in the hallway. "Why you not in schoolfed? Is middle of night. Should be in schoolfed."

"Wwell, good evvenin' to you too, Dam." His nerves melted some when he sneered at her. "Wwe gotta talk."

"What you mean talk? We no talk. You take problem, go find moirail. Don't have moirail? Too bad, not my problem. Go away."

She moved to close the door on him, but he caught it with his palm above her, the rings on his fingers clattering against the wood. Her jaw dropped because he'd never taken a dominant stance with her, he'd always been manipulative and sneaky, playing up their mental rivalry more than a physical one due to the way his caste outclassed hers in terms of raw muscle power. She glared then, multicolored sparks flashing around her fingers.

"Dam, wwe gotta talk."

Her glare took on a calculating edge as she screwed up her mouth at him. "Fine. We talk. You say what you need, then you go. Middle of night is bad time to be seeing you. Should be in schoolfed. How you ever go to university without schoolfed? Stupid, idiot, boy!"

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"This ain't reely somethin' I wwanna talk about in the hallwway."

The rustblood leveled him with a raised eyebrow and spouted something that was clearly an insult in the hybridized Alternian that was her first language, and Eridan frowned, drawing himself up as best he could while still keeping her from slamming the door.

"You knoww I don't speak that Chitten infected rubbish you spout wwhen you're bein' stubborn, Dam." When she didn't answer except to twitch her already raised eyebrow, the seadweller sighed, loosening his grip some, "C'mon. This is a reel issue here. Wwe're pitch ain't wwe? So, isn't this somethin' wwe're supposed to wwork out together?"

"No."

Because of how he was standing, Damara was able to pull the door back so that his weight fell forward some before slamming it in his face, literally catching his nose with the flaking paint just above the number. He flailed, wind-milling his arms and falling against the wall behind him. With a hiss he rubbed the sore spot on his face and huffed.

"You don't evven knoww wwhat it is!" He cried, feeling the pinpricks of betrayal at the corners of his eyes. "You can't just leavve me like this! Dam!? Damara! C'mon!" He banged on her door. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT TOO YOU KNOWW!"

He kept it up as long as he could, the realization slowly dawning on him that she did, in fact, know what he'd come there to talk to her about, and that she didn't want anything to do with it or him any longer. But as it grew later in the night, people would be starting to come home from work, or schoolfed, and the young Aquarius knew he couldn't just stay there demanding his ex's attention once that started happening. He couldn't afford to let anyone know what was wrong.

Fortunately, he could hide it, feigning things off because the symptoms weren't so bad. He kept up his studies, wore baggier clothing, which suited the season, thank Signless, and just went about his merry way. It wasn't like he had many people to avoid anyway. Sol asked questions, in his irritating and insulting way, lisping and spitting slurs against the way the fabric draped around his expanding middle, but Eridan let him blame it on the holiday treats. Kan was harder to put off, because she knew fashion, but again it was so, so easy to place the cause on the time of year. The cold weather gave him plenty of excuses to bundle up, making him look bigger than he actually was anyway.

His family, on the other fin, took some doing. Well, not all of his family; just a few select people. The imminent pupation of his younger sister helped keep the spotlight off of him, but his nephew, only a year behind him in schoolfeeding wasn't so easily distracted. Living just down the hall from him was no help either. Somehow though he managed it for a while. At least until Twelfth Perigee's Eve, when everyone was crowded into his hive, leaving him no place to hide, and too hot to wear anything more than a single sweater vest over his baggiest button down shirt.

Cronus cornered him, placing a wide, webbed hand on the younger violet's shoulder, "Look, Eri, I know vwhat's goin on. I'm not gonna give you any speeches or anyfin. Just knowv I'm here for you. K?"

"Shore, Cro." He brushed him off, and escaped to his room to  _not_  sulk, using the privacy to pet his growing wriggler.

The hardest part about that time was that he hadn't heard from Damara since. Realistically, he knew pitchpartners didn't get all happy-go-homemaker the way matesprits did, and after the way she'd rejected his attempt to talk to her he couldn't say he was surprised, but it still hurt. He'd thought he meant more to her than that. Obviously he'd been wrong, but at the same time he thought that was the worst of his problems.

How ignorant he'd been then.

Right after Cold Season Break, a pair of humans in suits took him out of class, led him to a secluded office, and grilled him. Who was his partner? Were they committed? Was he or she providing for the wriggler? Where had he gotten all the scars on his body? Did he have the resources to care for an egg at that point in his life? Was he mentally stable enough to care for a grub? Did he have enough redbloods in his family to justify not medicating him against coldblood rage? Would the kit be in danger if they left it with him? And on and on until finally he snapped. Slamming his hands on the table, he jumped to his feet.

"HOWW'S ABOUT YOU MIND YOUR OWWN GLUBBIN' BUSINESS AN' LEAVVE ME AN' MY WWRIGGLER ALONE!"

The woman wrote something down, and ticked a checkmark next to a list of things he couldn't read. Then the pair stood up, gathered their papers with a curt nod, and the man said, 'We'll be in touch.' Like he didn't know going into the meeting that they were going to try and take his wriggler.

That morning he decided that he couldn't go home. If he did, he was sure the humans would find a way to steal his grub. His parents didn't even know! Only his brother knew for sure, and thus far, the older Aquarius had kept his gills closed. Eridan was grateful for it; it meant he didn't have to put up with the scene his mother was sure to make. And with Fef only just learning to read and write, they had their fins full without adding another mouth onto his father's already strained paycheck.

So, he grabbed what food he could from his 'homework spot' on the roof of the hivestem and left, without looking back. If he didn't go home, they couldn't find him, and he wouldn't lose his grub the way he lost his pitchmate. The fact that this was an immensely stupid decision never crossed his mind. Where he would gain beetles to provide for the both of them, or what sort of life he was bringing his wriggler into didn't matter. All that mattered to his over-emotional, immature mind was that if he got away they humans in suits couldn't steal his grub.

He walked until the apartment buildings turned into warehouses, and the warehouses turned into trees, following the coastline on the off chance that his grub would be hatched with gills. He was tired, aching, emotionally burned out, and growing heavier every night with the weight of the egg. His belly filled out while the rest of him thinned from the meager fishing his no-longer-streamlined body afforded him. His hair grew until he had to bind it with a braided thong of kelp into a tail at the base of his neck, and before he found his birthing den, Eridan Ampora learned the real meaning of the phrase 'wild troll'.

It was ten long weeks before he laid, and another twenty tied to the half-underwater cave waiting to see which way the grub would be hatched. It was cold, wet, and often he was hungry because leaving the nest for too long invited predators of both feral nature and not. But eventually, the weather warmed and the egg cracked, and the most adorable seagrub Eridan had ever seen spilled out into the grimy pile of rags that had at one point been his overcoat. The wriggler's tiny tail flared into a vertical fin, and each of his six legs was tipped with a wicked hook, finned on each pseudo-wrist for swimming. His squishy body was covered in a semi-toxic gel, and microscopic spines that would sting any predator that tried to harm him. His too-big-for-his-face eyes were as bright, bioluminescent violet as his body, and when they landed on his momma's face, he squawked, flashing deadly, if small, fangs, plenty ready for the chunks of raw fish Eridan had on hand.

The young adult took another week, letting the grub get the hang of his limbs in a tide pool near their makeshift home. Then he set out to sea, like his long-gone ancestors. His son would keep up, or he'd fall behind. Well, not really. Eridan wasn't heartless or wild enough for that. He'd been raised in a loving home, swimming in their massive bathtub the entirety of his grubhood, but he didn't carry the babe either. The little thing swam next to him, and if he shortened his strokes a bit to make it easier, no one was the wiser for it.

Somehow, in that pre-cocoon time, he fell into a kind of peaceful paradise. Hunting was much easier once the grub was able to understand 'stay' and 'come' in the vibrating language that was exclusive to seatrolls. It was an instinctive series of clicks and whistles that they all knew from the moment they were hatched. Scientists tried to pinpoint some internal noise the mother made but they couldn't explain why land-grubs born of seatrolls didn't understand while even seagrubs hatched from landwellers did. It was a mystery even the aquatics couldn't explain, but Eridan didn't care. It worked, and they were—dare he think it?—happy?

But such things could never last.

"C'mon, Vvir. Time to go." Eridan turned to his grub, some uncounted perigees later, and frowned when he caught sight of the violet child.

He was curled on himself, chewing on his tail with a furious dedication. All six legs were wrapped around it as best they could, so that he could reach the gland at the base of his caudal fin. He was much bigger now. As long as his mother's thorax, and strong. He'd even caught a few fish on his own lately, and his color was darkening.

"Wwell, silt." The adult seatroll sighed, drifting through the woven kelp hut to gather the grub in his arms. "Noww stop that. No. I knoww it itches." He wrapped his hand around the mangled nubs on the keel of his son's tail. "Here, wwe'll get you somewwhere safe soon."

He had no idea what he was going to do. He didn't even know where he was, but he did knew they had to surface, find a dry, safe, dark place for his child. And afterwards…oh Gog, and he'd thought things were complicated before. Another sigh escaped the Aquarius in a wave of bubbles through his gills. No choice then.

He rose to the surface.

Well, thank the Signless for small miracles. The skyline that greeted the mother and child was something at least semi-familiar. The north slums of New Chicago, where the city had taken over the entire curve of the peninsula and the shoreline curled back into the continent before wandering off in a northwesterly direction, creating a cove large enough for one of the most successful shipping yards in the country. At least it had been before the buttertuna had changed their migratory patterns and the kelp had taken over the seabed. It made the harbor inaccessible by the large fishing boats. Thus the whole thing had moved south, closer to Little Alternia, where Dualscar and Cronus had been lucky enough to find work. So now all that was left of the former booming business were rundown warehouses and dirty alleys more suitable to murder than trade, not even the drug dealers came down there. In a word, it was perfect for what Eridan needed, as long as he could find an abandoned loft that still had enough insulation that he could heat it.

The tattered remains of the cape Kan had made for his thirteenth wriggling party made an excellent sling for his uncomfortable grub. Virgan squirmed and grumbled with squawking chirps, continuing to try and chew on his tail nubs. Eridan murmured a soft 'shoosh' and thrummed deep in his thorax, vibrating the sling where it hung against him. It didn't do much, but at least both mother and child were connected by it as he climbed out of the water onto a moldy and rotting pier dimly lit by a failing street lamp five or six feet above his head.

The pale yellow and sickly orange light guided his way to just the kind of niche he needed. It appeared to have been a foreman's on-site apartment in its prime. It even had running water by some miracle. He'd need to pad the walls some before the cold season set in, and the floor of the storage area looked like it flooded every so often, but there was a tiny closet off the main room that was windowless, musty—which meant no drafts—and even had a few moth-chewed pillows on the floor. He couldn't keep the grin off of his face as he unwound the sling, chittering softly at his son.

"Well, well, well, what 'ave we 'ere, boys? Looks like a squatter what ain't gots the brains 'bout 'im ta know who's territ'ry this be." The voice was gruff and sounded like it was towering above him out of nowhere.

When Eridan turned to look over his shoulder warily, he discovered he was right. The purpleblood was at least ten feet tall, bent over slightly, huge hands on his hips with dirty, wicked claws. Capricorn symbols dripped from him like rain; jewelry, clothing, tattoos, they were everywhere. His make-up even had the swirls of his symbol above his eye, tracing a nastily puckered scar. His fangs were discolored and broken, and his horns almost brushed the ceiling, sticking out of a matted mane that fell to his rear. The tee-shirt looked painted on for how his thorax muscles bulged out. His pants had seen better days, the bottoms stained with the grime of the area, and his heavy boots obviously had steel embedded in the toes on top of thick soles that added two full inches to his already incredible height. Worse yet, though, hung from both hips were the traditional weapons of the subjugglators—steel-reinforced juggling clubs—discolored with a rainbow of blood in different stages of drying, meaning he knew how to wield them, and did so often. All of it was crowned with a leather jacket trimmed in pale purple, the color of the biggest hemo-terrorist group known to Hivus troll-kind; the Sangre Frio. And he was flanked by several of his friends.

Eridan swallowed loudly, his eyes going wide, and he stammered, "S-sorry. Wwe'll leavve. Wwe don't wwant trouble. I j-just needed a place for m-my...my grub. He's c-cocoonin'."

"Chill, brother. Ya don't gots ta up and leave. Ya just gots ta pay rent fer livin' 'ere. Whatcha gots ta offer? Ya violets always gots loads a that seadweller crap drippin' off ya." The stranger leered, already knowing the young mother had none of that, while his fellows chortled and snickered around them.

To confirm, the Aquarius shook his head, and swallowed again, eyes pinching closed. He knew it had been possible. He'd thought about it before, and he knew the chances he could get a legitimate job on land were next to impossible. It didn't mean he wanted to, but…he had to think of his grub. Virgan needed him to provide, and right now, the little guy needed this dingy closet in this worn down warehouse. So, the violet offered the only thing he could.

"All I'vve got…is…is me. Nofin else. T-take it or l-leavve it." He wished his voice was more confident than that.

The purple laughed, a cold sound that echoed in the abandoned building. His fellows picked up his mirth, elbowing each other as though the very idea was some kind of precious secret. They had him cornered, and he was the only thing between them and his grub, who instinctively knew to keep quiet and still while momma was giving off the fear scent. So, Eridan shifted on his knees to face them fully.

His shirt had once been white but salt made it cream, and it was torn at the neck to allow Virgan to cuddle skin to skin against his thorax. This meant he was bare across the front down to his abs, and the sleeves were short, more like a muscle shirt than anything else anymore. If not for his desperation he'd have never sunk to wearing his brother's clothes, but the sad truth was that Cronus was broader, more heavily muscled. So, in the last few weeks before he left home, the younger Aquarius had taken to borrowing things that would help him accommodate his grub.

He reached a hand behind his back to the little one, and with the other, he slicked his hair back so the blood-color streak was more obvious between his backswept, zigzag horns. His cheek fins flared a little, displaying the violet-veined webbing between the spines. This vision made the leader's chortles stop mid-sound.

"Mirthful Messiahs, brother." He licked his lips with a devilishly pointed tongue, and one of his monstrous hands palmed his crotch with no shame, "We just might 'ave ourselves a deal. What can ya do for me, fishy? 'Ow's 'bout ya gimme a ride in that pretty little mouth a yers, no?"

A shudder he couldn't stifle ran the length of Eridan's spine but he nodded.

"What was that, brother?" The Capricorn leered, obviously aroused by the Aquarius' reluctance.

"Y-yes. I'll d-do it."

"Now that wa'n't too 'ard was it?"

Large, disgusting fangs flashed in what was supposed to be a smile, but only served to make Eridan's gastric sack churn, and the fly of the dark, grimy jeans popped open to reveal a bulge easily the size of the seadweller's forearm. It rolled out in slow motion, dripping a concentrated slime that spoke of poor bathing habits to the floor between the violet's knees. He shuddered again, masking it as a shiver, and wondered if it was possible for his bulge to recede so far into his body that it became a second nook.

With a hesitant breath, and closed eyes, the Aquarius took the deep purple tentacle into his mouth, curling the extremely sensitive tip. Above him the Capricorn groaned, so he continued. The thing coiled as he enveloped it, sucking lightly, but mostly tugging with his tongue. He let as much of the fluid drip down his chin as he could, but the more he took in, the more he was forced to swallow. It brought his gag reflex up and though he tried to stop, the coldblood above him had other ideas. One of those wickedly clawed hands gripped his horn, shoving him further onto the gargantuan bulge. His stomach clenched, trying to spill itself, but finding no exit thanks to the blockage in his mouth, Eridan was forced to swallow it and the flood of lubrication fluid back down. Tears escaped his eyes and his jaw ached almost as much as the muscles of his abdomen. Then the flexible tip reached the back of his throat and another gag-swallow took it down into his protein chute. He wanted to fight, he wanted to stop, his claws scrabbled at the ground beneath him for balance, but the single hand on his horn had become two, and the weight of his grub on his legs behind him kept him from moving back. He couldn't even bite down from the thickness of the shaft between his lips. His nose brushed something, and his eyes popped open to find himself at the base of the thing. Convulsively swallowing around it, and unable to do anything else as it writhed within his oral cavity, he whimpered, vibrations running through him. Vaguely he heard Virgan answer him, but it was overpowered by the deep groaning purr of the purple using him.

"Ungh, fishy…yer…gots a…mmm…great mouth!" The stranger panted, and against Eridan's nose, the massive troll's stomach muscles clenched and bunched. "Keep up them noises…yer gonna make me…Mmm…spill mah…oh yeah…"

There was a subtle back and forth motion that set Eridan on edge, his muscles bunched and a voice in the back of his head panicked. He couldn't let the stranger climax! Not there! He'd die! His poor stomach couldn't—and it was too late.

The Capricorn growled, pulling the seadweller in by the horns until his nose and chin were flush with the edges of the stranger's seedflap, the bulge invading his throat and mouth pulsed, cutting off his air until he saw sparkles at the edges of his vision. Then a flood of fluid rushed directly into his stomach, down his protein chute from the position of the tip, and he had no choice but to swallow every nasty drop. By the time the purple relaxed from his orgasm, Eridan's belly was aching, sloshing painfully with every breath, and full enough to feel from the outside.

When the hands let go, he fell back and to the side to avoid landing on his grub, a hand going to his stomach unconsciously. He groaned and whimpered from the touch, tears, snot, and saliva mixed with strangely dark genetic fluids running down his cheeks and chin. His body felt violated, aching and twitchy. And when he looked up at the gang banger his vision was hazy.

"That…" The thug was still catching his breath. "Ya've earned yer place fer a couple days, fishy. I'll be back ta c'llect ag'in when th' urge strikes me. I've a feelin' yer gonna be a great motherfuckin' cumbucket if'n yer mouth's that good. Can't wait ta try yer other holes."

Then he was gone with his posse and Eridan was alone in the warehouse with his grub again. He was shaking, and his body tried to purge the genetic fluids, but after having had the reflex shoved back down several times, he just couldn't do it. So, he crawled his way over to the closet, curled up around Virgan as best he could while not flexing his belly muscles, and sank into a fitful sleep. When he woke, the tiny seadweller had built his cocoon, and there was nothing he could do anymore. They were stuck there for the next twenty some weeks, until Virgan pupated into a kit and broke his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAGS!!

After a while of Barbaran, as Eridan learned was his new 'landlord's' name, collecting his 'rent', the seadweller grew numb to the effects, used to the feeling of semi-clean genetic material sloshing around in either his stomach or his eggsack. He considered himself fortunate that the sadistic Capricorn never wanted to used his waste chute, but he made a point of never bringing it up, just in case. However, he also discovered there were some perks to letting Barbaran use him as a cumpail. For one, security. The other wastrels and vagabonds in the warehouse district left him alone. He was never robbed, or assaulted, or threatened, even by other amethysts. On the nights when he ventured out right after Barbaran had visited people actually scrambled out of his way from just the scent of the massive asshole clinging to him, whether he bathed beforehand or not. It made hunting easy, and let him feel more confident about leaving Virgan's cocoon unguarded when he had to. After discovering this, he made a point of always paying his dues directly in front of the closet to provide yet another layer of protection between the outside world and his pupa.

Such was his routine. About once a week, more if Barbaran was frustrated, the giant coldblood would meander his way into Eridan's 'apartment', take his due, and leave. He rarely ever brought friends along, but any shame the Aquarius once had about servicing his landlord flew out the window before the end of the first perigee. In the meantime, the seadweller used those same skills to his advantage, turning tricks for beetles with anyone willing to risk Barbaran's wrath. His usual clientele were mostly humans looking to escape their world and play on the dark side without getting caught, but occasionally other amethysts too high or stupid to know better risked Barbaran's wrath. It made for a tidy sum of boons that furnished the meager apartment almost well enough that he could forget he was living in abject poverty.

Only once did he worry about his trade, shortly after he'd begun, and the Frio-head was quick to reassure him, in his own way.

It was after Barbaran had stuffed his nook and was pulling up his jeans, the same stained pair he always wore, when Eridan spoke up, "So…all wwe are is tenant an' landlord right?"

"Yeah." The Capricorn's gravelly voice was almost a growl in his skepticism. "Don't tell me yer gettin' attached, fishy? I ain't do quadrants. Least a which wit' the likes a you. Don't think I don't know 'bout them johns ya do ta pass yer time."

"No. No. I wwas just wwonderin'. That's all. I'm f-fine wwith thin's as they are." The violet was quick to defend.

"Good. Just don't go pokin' yer nose inta Frio business, stick ta the 'umans and the trash ya been pailin' and I don't care." Barbaran settled his belt and swiped his thumb across his nose. "Ya start askin' questions and…well, I can't guarantee ya ain't gonna find shit ya don't motherfuckin' wanna know. Shit that'd be bad fer that cocoon a yers. Ya gots me?"

"Oh, I have you. I swwear."

"Good. See ya 'round, fishy."

And he was gone, along with a large weight off of Eridan's shoulders.

It was kind of strange. His situation sucked. Living conditions that didn't even meet rodent standards. A landlord that collected his rent every week in sexual favors. And a neighborhood not even fit for drug addicts and streetwalkers, let alone raising a grub. And yet, he was safe. His favors earned him a secure, dry, warm—now that he'd been able to buy some thick, lumpy blankets to hang on the walls—home, a regular source of income—even if it was shady and dangerous to his health—and stability like he hadn't had since striking out on his own almost a sweep ago.

In spite of it all, the Aquarius laughed, laying back against the stained pile of pillows and blankets he'd built up over the last couple of weeks, with a smile on his face and hope in his heart for the first time in a long while. Yeah, his situation sucked, but it could have been so much worse. The bottom line was though, he was surviving! Just as his brother had for six sweeps!

What happened next could only have been described as the consequences of having dropped out of schoolfeeding before finishing the lesson on the effectiveness of grub control, and how his body would react were the hormones abruptly stopped after an extended period of use.

Thus, he didn't know why it happened but two weeks before Virgan's cocoon cracked he woke up uncomfortable. Irritated for no reason, and overheated. He was thankful for the solitude and grateful that by some twist of fate Barbaran had been missing for the last perigee. He knew he shouldn't neglect his regular johns but feeling like he did…the last thing he wanted was some kinky human sticking its nasty, rigid bulge down his throat. Well, no, that was the second to last thing. The very last thing he wanted was anyone anywhere near his nook, which felt like it was on fire. It took him two days of that discomfort to finally decide he needed to cool off somehow. So, with worry churning in his gastric sac, he rigged the door of the closet so that should someone try to interfere with his wriggler they'd be extremely sorry. Taking one last look at the shabby apartment, he took to the sea.

The ocean water ebbed the burn for a short while. He found that if he didn't take his clothes off, sitting around after his swim in the dripping cloth prolonged the cooling effect, keeping his bulge safely tucked within his sheathe and slowed the drip of lubrication fluid from his nook. By then he knew very well what was going on, he just didn't understand why. Truthfully, it wasn't unheard of for a troll to go back into his or her heat cycle before the cocoon hatched but it wasn't common, especially among seatrolls, whose reproductive cycles were so difficult to fulfill in the first place.

He supposed, while eating a cold can of some sort of beans, that it was because for the better part of his adolescent and adult life he'd been on birth control. The tiny purple pill, specially formulated to mimic his own hormones, had regulated his cycle. It was only because he'd gotten lazy with Damara that Virgan even existed. So, being in his current position, unable to risk going to a clinic to obtain more, he had to assume that his body was doing what it would normally have done if he'd never been given it in the first place. He was right, of course, but having skipped out on those lessons due to his panic over Virgan in the first place, he had no way of knowing that.

He sighed, finishing his dinner, and stood to check the webbing of booby traps protecting his wriggler. Then he gave a nod and left for his nightly swim, confident that even if the fading scent wasn't enough of a deterrent the rigging of nets and knives, all aimed carefully away from where his wriggler could be hurt, would be enough to protect the little one. Still, he lingered by the door on the rickety stairs until the ache in his nook was too much. The speed with which he dashed to the ocean after that was such that he didn't see the wastrels who clung to the warehouses like barnacles scuttling away.

Thus, when he emerged several hours later, he shrieked at the sight of the hulking highblood, stooped over the edge of the ladder that was his only way on or off the last remaining pier.

"You weren't in yer hive, fishboy." He growled, an ominous enunciation to his words.

"I…it wwas…I needed to go swwimmin'. Wwhy? Is that a problem noww?!" Eridan knew he should have been more submissive, but being confronted by what he knew to be a very aggressive troll did  _things_  to his heat-addled thinkpan.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Barbaran roared, and surged to his feet, a hand flying to his clubs.

Internally, a voice the violet knew was his sense of reason was screaming at him to get away, to dive, to shut the hell up. He didn't listen. Instead, he bared his teeth, flared his fins and rattled the spines in a non-verbal warning, as if he had the ability to actually challenge the larger, stronger, older troll.

"You heard me!"

The subjugglator gave another roar, spittle and foul stench from his discolored fangs spraying down over Eridan in an inarticulate, feral sound that shot straight to the seadweller's nook. He answered with a cry of his own and dove under the surface, skimming just shallow enough to be seen from the dock. He rolled a glowing, violet eye up at the other, and glared, dashing off towards the shore. The corner of his mouth curled into a vicious grin when he saw Barbaran was following him.

After a while Eridan peeled away to streak parallel to the grimy beach just beyond the breakwater. He laughed and, in the sub-vocal seatroll language, glubbed several choice insults at the murderclown who'd been sexually assaulting him for almost ten perigrees. However, not a second later came the sort of splash that normally followed the tossing of a boulder into a deep lake. It brought the violetblood up short, and he spun, the bottom of his gastric bladder falling to the pit of his abdominal cavity. If it wasn't already the second coldest in the hemospectrum, the sight of Barbaran swimming after him with long, powerful, and  _angry_  strokes would have frozen his blood. As it was, he only just barely had the sense of mind to take off for deeper waters.

How could he have forgotten that amethysts were practically seadwellers on land!?

Frantic breaths through tortured gills, screaming muscles reaching ever further into the briny depths. On and on, Eridan swam, the perpetual growling from behind him more of an incentive than any other to keep going. But eventually, he knew, he'd lose. He didn't have the stamina of a highblood. Seadweller he may have been, but almost a full orbit of hard living and sacrifice had carved away at his fat stores, depleted his muscle mass, what little he had to begin with, and he just…didn't have the…energy…

When Barbaran grabbed him midstroke it was almost a welcoming thing. Though disgusting claws rent open the soft skin on his belly, and even nastier fangs punctured the muscle of his shoulder in a rush of bubbles that had him coughing from the taste over his gills. He cried, low and keening with defeat, but his arms and legs kicked out to get free in contrast. The chase was over, the subjugglator had won, and through his struggles Eridan could feel himself being dragged back to shore.

His back hit the rocky sand with a squelching crunch, driving home that he was truly at the other's mercy. His fins pinned back against his neck, and he kept his head turned to the side in submission, but he knew better.

So it was no surprise when his pants were torn from his body, his lower half still submerged from the angle of the beach. Nor was it when Barbaran's own naked form settled atop him. A slimy tongue lapped at the cuts on his stomach, the permanent growl rumbling in the way of an angry purr.

"Thought ya'd get away, di'n't ya? Thought ya'd swim yer way to safety an' I'd just leave ya alone,  _didn't ya!?_ " The fangs closed mere centimeters from his cheek, scraping the top layers of scales off.

He whimpered.

Barbaran laughed and dug his claws into the seadweller's hips. This brought bunched fists up to pound on a chest twice as broad and four times as strong. Barbaran laughed harder. A single massive palm claimed both of Eridan's wrists and slammed them back into the ground hard enough to bruise, making the violet gasp in pain. Again the fangs were close enough to his skin to graze.

"Yer worthless, seatroll! Ya were worthless on Alternia an' yer even more worthless 'ere! Get it through yer 'ead!" His words were punctuated with the pressure on the aquatic's arms. "Yer mine. Ya were mine the second ya poked yer nasty, fishy, slutty fins up outta my bay. I've claimed ya, an' yer mine ta use. I've been kind to ya, fishy. Given ya a 'ome, protected ya grub, kept ya secure~!"

Slime stretched from Eridan's nose to his ear fin, and he felt the questing intrusion of the bulge he knew so well prodding at his nook. His own was still retracted, as usual, but the folds of his entrance were swollen with heat and dripping, obviously even under the water. Thus, to his utter mortification, he moaned, his body arching up to align with the giant tentacle.

"What's this? All that fire in ya, and now that I've got ya, yer whinin' an' moanin' like the whore I knew ya were the second I laid eyes on ya." Barbaran covered him, leaning heavily over all over his wounds, and whispered, "Ya think it'll be that easy?"

Daring to look up at the amethyst, Eridan swallowed in fear.

The other monstrous hand cut down his side, the claws leaving trails of weeping violet blood, until he felt the prod of a claw at his waste chute. No! No no no! Not there! Anywhere but there! NO! NONONONONO!  _NONONONONONONONONONO—_

 _"AUGH!"_  He screamed, his body arching away from the intrusion.

Vaguely he heard laughing, but all he felt was pain. If the claw hadn't torn him open, he was certain the sudden presence of the massive thumb attached to it had. He thrashed his head, wailing feebly with incoherent noises. Was he crying? He couldn't tell through the white-wash of agony. He might have bitten his tongue. He knew he was missing several teeth.

And then it got worse.

The invasion of his nook was just as fast, and the combined two had him strung like a longbow again, heels digging into the sand, kicking it up and making the water even more murky than it had been. His vocal sounds were less adult now, slipping into the range of a distressed wriggler, though the monster above him paid no heed. But, worst of all, beyond all of the pain and violation, was the way his bulge and nook responded.

The sick fucks.

Somehow through his haze, he felt the coil of heat in his lower belly spiking. Something pressed up into his eggsack and his bulge curled on itself. When it had emerged he didn't know, and he had no control over the way everything spasmed around his body's invaders. This was simultaneously good and bad, because doing so increased both the rush of heat-fueled arousal and the excruciating pain. It happened several times before, oh god, he was cumming. Damn him to the darkest pits of the Furthest Ring, he was getting off on this torture. For a third time, his body spasmed into a sharp convex arc, leaving only his shoulders and heels as points of contact with the ground, as his genetic fluids flooded the water around them.

Then he was full. Oh, so full! Heavy and still being pulsed into. He tried to buck, but had no energy for it, even as his eggsack and lower belly ached in a dull counterpoint to the tears in his ass and bruises on his wrists. He didn't even register when Barbaran pulled away. The next thing he felt was the grip of heavy claws pulling his hair to sit him up. His hands, which had somehow found their way to his stomach, flew to grip the highblood's fist, his face twisting into the ugly, crumpled expression of tears that wouldn't come.

"Not so 'igh an' mighty now, are ya, fishy?" Barbaran spat into the water next to him. "Remember this…or ya'll wish ya 'adn't never come 'ere."

Eridan tried to pull away, but the hand in his hair wouldn't let him. He found some shaky semblance of his voice though, "F-f-f-fuck you…"

He was eating sand in the next instant, the back of the other hand having left a skull-rattling impact across his face, splitting his lip and bloodying his nose. He thought some of his hair might have been ripped out too, but he didn't get the moment to catalogue it before the amethyst was standing over him, bulge in hand and a sneer on his face.

"Seadwellers're good fer two things, fishy, fuckin' an' fightin', an' you ain't good fer neither…"

His assaulter continued ranting but the words were lost when the first splatter of liquid hit his bruised cheek. He stiffened for a moment, then clamped eyes, mouth, and gills shut as tight as he could, trying to curl up on himself under the spray of urine. Unfortunately, due to the rapid swelling of his nose and lip, he couldn't form a tight seal and before the monster was finished, he inadvertently wound up with a good mouthful of the stuff.

How long he lay there after the rape he wasn't sure, but he was cold, shivering uncontrollably. Something prodded him in the forehead when he tried to curl in on himself tighter though. He groaned, and it happened again. A weak attempt at waving the thing off got him a squawk and another poke, this time in his bruised cheek. The pain shot through his haze and he snapped at the thing, eyes blazing. Then he gasped.

In front of him was a naked, blinking, half-rustblood wriggler whose face he knew too well. The little one glared for a moment, having fallen on his rump in an uncoordinated jump backwards away from the gnashing teeth and slashing claws of his eggmother. Then his little lip quivered and tears just a shade too pink to be violet but too purple to be red welled up in his immature-grey eyes.

Immediately nothing else mattered. The pains across Eridan's body were background noise to the stab through his pump biscuit that made him surge forward, just an uncoordinated as his wriggler. At first, the newly pupated Virgan tried to scramble away, but though he was injured, Eridan was still more agile than his son.

"Shh. I'm sorry. Shh." He crooned, trilling deep in his thorax, though his voice was hoarse.

Virgan stilled, then squirmed. Eridan looked down at him, and the tiny seadweller's fins and nose were wrinkled up in disgust, accusation heavy in his eyes. All it did was make his mother laugh and cling to him harder, which in turn brought a series of squawks from the child as he tried to push himself away from the nasty scents clinging to Eridan's abused body.

After a short time they both calmed, sitting in the surf as the sky began to lighten on the horizon. Eridan had his cheek pressed to the top of Virgan's head between his horns, purring softly while the wriggler dozed. It was all too tempting to just take to sea and never come back. He didn't know where he'd go, but it had to be better than this. Anywhere had to be better than this. But could he displace Virgan? The wriggler had no friends here, there weren't any friends to be made. And the skill set Eridan possessed could be used anywhere there were kinky humans, which was everywhere on Hivus. The wriggler might not yet be strong enough to make a journey to someplace like New Jamaica or Click-Chitter-Boom, but they could get away from New Chicago at least. Maybe go someplace like Suite Liques on the other side of the continent. They'd have to stay near water, to make sure Virgan's scales didn't crack or tear, and that his gills grew properly, but that wasn't so hard as long as he didn't go too far inland. Was there even anything in the shitty hovel that he needed to grab? Could they just take off, and worry about supplies at the next town they came across? His cape and scarf. His fins drooped a little, but he frowned at the water between his feet. No. It was sad to lose them, but he needed to go now.

"Vvirgan." He chirped softly, nudging the wriggler.

"Ngh."

"Wwakey wwakey, starfish. Wwe gotta go." A bleary eye rolled up at him, and he smiled a bit, tucking the blood-color curl of hair behind the wriggler's ear. "Let's go swwimmin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this series isn't abandoned, but I've decided to pick up with Eridan at a point where it feels more natural to post it as a separate fic. So, even though there's an unhappy ending here, don't worry. He'll be back. ^_^


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